TITLE: Machina ex Deo
AUTHOR: Cyn(di)
RATING: Currently PG, but may eventually be as high as R.
SPOILERS: Anything, I guess.
SUMMARY: The Ancients feared only three things. One was the Wraith; another was the Plague. The third was locked away securely, deep inside Atlantis, and should never have been found again.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was originally going to be an SG-1 fic, and then I realized it'd work much better over in this galaxy. So here's my first Atlantis fic. Have fun.
Don't own Stargate sniffle, or any of its characters, although I do own the plot to this story. I also don't own the Blue Oyster Cult song this is based on—first person to guess which one gets bonus points.
I'm a big fan of CSI and quite jealous of Marg Helgenberger's, ah, endowments. Please don't flame me.
They were never going to stop having this conversation, over and over again. Never. Because there was little they enjoyed more than getting in arguments with each other over ridiculously important things. Such as established sports that didn't even exist in the galaxy they currently inhabited.
It was as good a way to pass the time as any.
"I don't get you." John heaved a sigh and crossed his arms across his chest. "Haven't you ever heard the saying about a hockey game breaking out? Pretty much accurate, as far as I can tell."
Rodney also folded his arms, his brief scowl catching the glances of a few passers-by. "That's not fair. Hockey is a perfectly legitimate and respectable sport."
"Still looks like a barroom brawl to me." John shrugged. "Except the people involved get sticks handed out to them beforehand and big fat paychecks afterwards."
"Precisely. Because a football game is about as violent as a game of cricket, right?" Rodney's frown was deepening, mirroring John's steadily growing smirk. "And just as poorly paid?"
"Football players," John objected, "don't wear giant razor blades strapped to their feet."
"They need those to move around efficiently on the ice. Hockey skates aren't used as weapons, even when a fight breaks out—which isn't that often."
"Yes, they are. I saw it on CSI."
"So did I, actually." Rodney threw up his hands. "But since when is CSI taken from real life? They can't even get the science right on that damn show."
John shrugged again, tried and failed for an angelic smile, and reverted to an ear-to-ear grin. "I liked CSI," he argued evasively. "Good writing. And the music was really awesome. It was a really good show. Probably still is, if it's still on."
"Really good show?" Rodney muttered, not quite far enough under his breath. "As in, the actual show, or Marg Helgenberger's cleavage?"
"Rodney! How could you think such a thing?" John responded in mock indignation, then relaxed and swatted the other man's shoulder lightly. "You know what a prude I am."
"Go right on thinking that, okay?" Rodney shook his head in exasperation, chuckling, and glanced at his watch. "Shit. We're supposed to be in Elizabeth's office in five minutes.
"Let's go, then. I can always convert you to fandom of real sports later."
"Real sports? Where the players are so thickly cushioned it's a miracle they can even breathe, let alone participate in competitive athletics?"
The smirk came back for a second. "It's to protect their throats from being slit."
"By wayward hockey players who decided to try skating on grass?"
John was about to reply, but he was too choked by laughter at the mental image Rodney had conjured. A minute later, heading down the corridor, they were both still laughing their heads off.
Passers-by began to stare again.
-----
Elizabeth began without preamble as soon as the team members had assembled in her office. "Scouting teams found an interesting room this morning. They think it's a lab."
Rodney smiled. "Cool."
At the same time, John began to protest. "That's Rodney's department, right? Why'd you need all of us in here?"
"They think?" Teyla interrupted. "Why can they not be sure?"
"That's the problem," Elizabeth answered. John and Rodney immediately fell silent again. "The door's sealed shut, and the scouts haven't been able to figure out how to open it yet."
Ford narrowed his eyes. "Then how can they even guess what's inside?"
"Strange energy readings, apparently," she explained. "Weak, but unusual; their guess, and mine, is that there's some kind of Ancient technology in there. That's all I've been told; you'll have to go down there and talk to them to find out more."
"And I repeat," John said, "why do you need the rest of us to crash what's obviously Rodney's party? The situation doesn't really seem like they'd need two soldiers and a Wraith expert getting in the way down there."
"Because," Elizabeth responded immediately, " we can make all the guesses we like, but we don't know what's in that room. We need soldiers, and a Wraith expert, in case it turns out to be hostile."
"And your extreme compatibility with Ancient technology could be enough to open the door," Rodney added.
"Okay, okay." John held up both hands in surrender. "Just wondering."
"Any more questions?" Elizabeth waited a few seconds; no one answered. "All right, then. I want all four of you, fully armed, right here—"she pulled out a map of Atlantis and indicated a spot in one of the lowest levels— "as soon as possible."
-----
Sometimes, John reflected, the ATA gene frightened him a little bit. Strangely, it wasn't that he could make this entire city do pretty much whatever he wanted just by thinking it. That was just really neat. But the scout team that had found the sealed room was made up of young, impressionable-looking scientists. When he'd placed his hand on the door, it had slid open after a second (he'd actually had to put some effort into it for once, which was unusual), and the looks they'd given him were uncomfortably worshipful. He liked pretending to be a demigod, but only when other people didn't treat him like one.
The room, as it turned out, wasn't a lab after all, although it didn't seem to be anything else either. It was just a small, bare room, maybe eight feet square. Nothing written on the walls, even.
John walked in slowly, taking a good look around before lowering his gun. The rest of his team followed a moment later, Rodney letting out an immediate groan of disappointment. "Well, that was anticlimactic."
"There are still unusual energy readings, are there not?" Teyla reminded him. "We have yet to explain them."
"Something in a hidden compartment, maybe," Ford suggested, extending a careful hand to feel the wall for concealed doors or latches.
John closed his eyes and concentrated. "I'm looking, Lieutenant. Gimme a sec."
There was something in here, all right, and he was damn well going to find it.